competence, etc.

You should know that while writing this, I have high hopes of this being one of the last greyhound trips I have to take. And if it’s not actually my last, which is probably more accurate, I cherish the thought of a shift from habitual to sporadic.
I am not the kind of rider that people strike up conversations with. I am not interested, frankly. This should not be deemed as superiority nor general unfriendliness. When I board the bus, I have a mission in mind; a schedule of things I’ve liked to have read, written or watched by the time I leave. Casual conversation just does not fit. Although I did see a man who matched the description of a leprechaun pirate (long red beard, pirate-like doo rag, luminous pot/cauldron) on the queue to Philadelphia. Him, I would have talked to. Anything short of this kind of fantastical hybrid and I’m not interested.

I am consistently shocked to see how foreign of a concept this is for other travelers, however. Take the gentleman behind me, who because of his boisterous demeanor, I have discovered recently came to the US from Pakistan. If I had to guess his hobbies, they would include talking loudly on a cell phone and interrupting other people’s train of thought. He is seated next to a rather disinterested woman content to both close her eyes when the conversation drifts and stare out the window longingly. Our astute conversationalist seizes the opportunity to talk to someone who is not on his cell phone and begins a dialogue that can only be described as “chatting her up.” It is one of those conversations that swirl widely and I gradually become impressed at his ability to get so much out of her. My assigned text eventually gets cast aside and I soon begin to snoop, an activity that L is known famously for, even at the detriment of creating interesting discussions of our own. The woman is going to New York to see her “ex-flame” whose birthday happens to be today. She is feeling conflicted about making such a visit but there’s “something in her heart that tells her to go to him.” I envy her impetuousness and wonder where our male friend will take the conversation from here. Considering the current circumstances, retrieving a number seems unlikely if not impossible. His tactic of questioning her love is predictable and met with a decent amount of resistance and is an amateur move since this declaration of sentiment requires involving herself in a 5 hour bus ride. Our man is persistent but the immediacy of the exchange is now long gone and I am left listening to the come on’s of man who is clearly out of his league. He has done his best. There is always the way back home to consider.

The trip to Washington provided another similar conversation in that it was loud enough for even those not meticulously collecting anecdotes to blog about later might take notice. Two riders had somehow discovered they were both British and just like that an ex-pat bond was formed. This led to an exchange filled with reminiscing that is a consistently unpleasant and exclusionary activity that rears its ugly head at least once in any given large social interaction. (“You grew up in Chattanooga too!? Did you go to East Ridge High-School? Did you know…”) Although I never quite mustered up the energy to take notice of the nuts and bolts, lots of flirty giggling ensued. I then decided that next to a wailing toddler that this might be the most aggravating noise imaginable on a Coach bus. This is no place for mating. Just ask the guy in the back.
-m